


underwater trying not to drown

by clairechiaraclaro



Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anthony Bridgerton Needs A Hug, Anxiety, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Love, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Family Drama, Pre-Canon, Self-Esteem Issues, he's trying his hardest, no but seriously pls get Anthony in therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28903911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairechiaraclaro/pseuds/clairechiaraclaro
Summary: The Viscount Bridgerton is dead.Anthony is eighteen.OR: five times Anthony struggled as Lord Bridgerton, and one time it was easy.
Relationships: Daphne Bridgerton/Simon Basset, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 91





	underwater trying not to drown

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched Bridgerton in three days, fell in love, got caught up in the idea of Anthony being eighteen, watching his father die, and having to take care of his family, and then my mind thought "potential for angst" and now here I am with a 6k one-shot about how he managed to do it all. Anyone else?
> 
> Also, disclaimer, I haven't read the books (yet!) so I'm operating off of the TV show and what I've read online about Anthony's story. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title is from “Underwater” by Nikki Flores

1.

His father is dead. 

The words have been rattling in Anthony’s head all day in a way that means he cannot believe them; because it cannot be true, for his father of only thirty-eight years to be gone, and from something as simple as a bee sting. But it is true, and the only reason Anthony knows he is not dreaming is because of his own gaze, focused firmly on his parents’ bed, where Edmund Bridgerton lays, dead. 

Anthony does not know how long he has been standing there, unmoving. In her single moment of composure before retreating from the room, his mother had told him that his siblings should not enter. That it would be too much of a shock; they are too young, Benedict being only fifteen and the rest even younger. But not Anthony. He is the heir; prepared for everything and ready for nothing. 

His father is dead. Anthony cannot find it in himself to cry – he can barely find the effort to breathe. It was supposed to be a happy summer, celebrating Anthony’s graduation from Eton and start at Oxford, Colin’s birthday, Benedict’s month in Spain. But it has now shattered at his feet. The idea of happiness is so foreign to Anthony now; indeed, how can he be happy when his father will soon be in a grave, and Anthony is here, left behind with barely enough guidance to know what will happen next. 

“Lord Bridgerton.” 

The words suddenly throw Anthony into his skin, his senses coming back to him in a rush that nearly knocks him off his feet as he finally moves, turning his head to see Mrs. Wilson staring at him. From the look on the housekeeper’s face, it was not the first time she has spoken the words, trying to bring his focus. He can’t bring himself to care. 

Mrs. Wilson breathes in deeply, as if now that she has his attention, she does not know what to say. Anthony doesn’t either. She is looking at Anthony, and more than anything, there is pity in her eyes as she stares at him. Anthony can feel fury building inside him, at the idea of any of this, at the idea of all of it, but it is like there is a wall between him and his emotions. His fury does not really matter.

Mrs. Wilson clears her throat and nods, almost to herself. “It will take some time to get used to, my lord. The new title.” 

Anthony nods, muscle memory helping him more than anything. He still does not say anything, cannot say anything. 

But Mrs. Wilson, for all her ability to battle with words, is mercifully straight to the point. “The coroner has come, my lord. Your mother has requested that you re-join your family in the drawing-room.” 

Anthony nods again, forcing words out of his mouth for the first time since he had heard the news. “Thank you.” 

It takes another moment for Anthony to retake control of his body, to make his way out of the bedroom and down to the drawing-room where the rest of his family sits. As Anthony strides in, he surveys the room with a quick glance; Benedict has his arms wrapped around both Eloise and Francesca, and Colin is comforting their mother. There is no sign of Gregory or Hyacinth, which means Anthony had stayed up there with his father long enough for the youngest two siblings to be brought back to the nursery. He could take his father’s watch to check, but the object burns like ice inside Anthony’s pocket, and he can’t bring himself to touch it, not yet. 

Before he can say anything, Daphne barrels into his side, wrapping her arms around him. Anthony moves automatically, to pull his sister in closer, to delicately rest his hand on her hair, comforting her as much as he can. Daphne is crying, little hiccups here and there showing her commitment to being a lady, even in grief. The two stand in silence, the whole family not being able to find the words. But they are together, which was always what was most important. 

His father’s words. 

Anthony swallows, forcing his grief down, because he knows they are all looking at him, waiting for him to say something; after all, he is lord of the house. The very words make Anthony sick to his stomach. But before he can open his mouth, before he can say anything, cries rip through the swollen silence, echoing from the nursery when they originate. 

Right now, Anthony wants to curse his parents’ insistence in letting the nursemaid have the week off. He can see his mother trying to calm, trying to prepare herself to see a child only a few weeks old. The last memory of his father, the last thing he put on this earth; dear Hyacinth.  And if Anthony can do anything, he can spare her the pain of that, of rubbing salt in such a new wound. 

“Stay, Mama,” he manages, though each word turns to dust in his mouth. “I will take care of it.” 

He can see his mother move to protest, but Anthony is already leaving, untangling himself from Daphne. And he knows his mother needed this, because she does not say anything, only nodding before leaning back into Colin’s embrace. For his mother not to argue just shows how right Anthony is – he needs to step into his father’s role, he needs to support his mother through all of this. Without her, they will all crumble; that, he knows. 

The silence through the rest of the house is deafening, as all servants seem to have disappeared. Anthony is relieved, more than anything else, but he finds himself going through the list of people employed by the Bridgertons. He’ll have to go to Aubrey Hall soon, as well, to talk to the steward and familiarise himself with the local leaders. And hopefully, it can all be settled by the fall, because Anthony will be damned if he has to delay his studies. His father always said that Anthony wanted to have cake and eat it too. He will not prove his father wrong. 

Finally, Anthony makes it to the nursery, where Hyacinth is still crying. Somehow, Gregory is asleep, which Anthony is forever thankful for – he doesn’t think he could deal with two crying children at this moment. Sighing, he reaches into the crib, pulling Hyacinth up and leaning her against his shoulder. He bounces her up and down, and after some time – Anthony doesn’t know, he won’t know because he will not look at his father’s pocket watch – Hyacinth quietens, simply staring up at Anthony. Her brown eyes were wide, almost as if she was questioning Anthony himself, questioning what right he had to be here, to be taking care of her. 

But more likely, Anthony is just projecting his insecurities onto his baby sister. No matter what, he is going to be with his family, be with his siblings. He is going to take care of all of them, from his mother to young Hyacinth, because that is his duty. He is the man of the house; he is Lord Bridgerton. For all intents and purposes, he now has to be a father to his siblings. 

He will be the only father Hyacinth and Gregory know. 

That realisation sends Anthony stumbling, fighting to keep his balance with his sister in his arms. His back meets the wall of the nursery, and Anthony clings to it like a lifeline. He presses hard against the wood, and it pushes back, and Anthony sinks to the ground on his knees, Hyacinth still clutched in his arms. Emotions rise in Anthony, bubbling up and up and up and Anthony can barely breathe and he has to focus on Hyacinth, Hyacinth who is in his arms and is looking to him and his family are looking to him and he can’t look back – 

Tears fall down Anthony’s face for the first time since his life has irrevocably changed. Shifting Hyacinth to one arm, still holding her safely, Anthony presses his other hand to his mouth as tears continue to fall, as his shoulders shake with force, and muffles his cries as best he can. 

2.

“Bridgerton!” 

With an annoyed huff, Anthony glances up from his books and ledgers, no longer  _ running his estate like he is supposed to _ , and glares at Simon, who is smiling down at Anthony with an incorrigible grin,  _ like always _ . Never mind the fact that Anthony is bent over his desk, at work, and has no time for whatever scheme Simon has devised. 

“Basset,” Anthony answers. 

Simon rolls his eyes, sitting down on the chair on his side of the room. “Come now, Bridgerton, pull the stick out of your arse. I’m afraid I’ve gotten into a little argument with Hardy, and we’re settling it with a pall mall tournament. I need you to be on my team, all things considered.” 

Anthony knows precisely what Simon is referring to – the one time he and his siblings played and every single one of them ended up injured, as opposed to the usual two or three – and he has to fight back a laugh. Everyone he talks to seems terrified of the idea of combining the Bridgertons and pall mall, and to be fair, that fear is probably deserved, so of course Simon wants Anthony on his side. In truth, Anthony would love to do so; Hardy is boastful at the best of times and insufferably arrogant at worse, and knocking him down a peg is always a good time. 

But he promised his steward that Anthony would have the accounts fully checked over by the end of this week and send them back through the post to set up the finances of Bridgerton lands for the next year. He is Viscount Bridgerton first and Anthony Bridgerton second, no matter what else comes up. 

“I am afraid I cannot help you with your quest, Basset,” Anthony retorts. “I have to balance the books, and after, study for exams.” 

Simon laughs, seemingly not believing Anthony’s seriousness, which Anthony can’t truly fault him for. “These books are almost done, Bridgerton. You can’t fool me; you have kept yourself holed up in our room all day. Studying can be done later, after we have assured victory.” 

“No, it cannot,” Anthony snaps, beginning to lose his admittedly already-thin patience. “I have work to do. Leave me be.” 

With that, he turns back to his work, intent on focusing for the foreseeable future. He will finish this, because he is nothing if not stubborn. And every worry the ton has about him running the Bridgerton estates while being at Oxford will be baseless. He will not be a mark of dishonour on his family. 

“Anthony.” Simon’s switch to first names is not lost on Anthony, but he is tired and angry, and there is nothing inside of him pushing him to care. “You cannot give every part of yourself to this, to books and ledgers. I mean, when did you last spend time in the sun?”

Anthony slams his book shut, sure that as long as Simon is here, then he will not be getting work done. “Yes,  _ Simon _ , I  _ can _ give every part of myself to this, and I will. I am Lord Bridgerton, as you so often call me, which means I am responsible for my family and those I govern. Perhaps you should take note.” 

It is a low blow; Anthony knows how nerve-wracked Simon is about the idea of inheriting the Dukedom, has talked with him about it many times. But Anthony is angry because this is a conversation he has had with so many others – his fellow students, his professors, his family – and no one will believe him, so he must pick up the burden of proving them wrong. Simon’s attempts to pull him away will not succeed. 

Anthony can see Simon’s face fall, and the anger take hold as he storms out of his and Anthony’s room. Anthony wants to go after him, apologise and settle the matter by soundly defeating Hardy. Simon is his closest friend, the only one Anthony feels comfortable airing his grievances about being the head of the house, and Anthony wants his friendship through all of it, thick and thin. 

But he can’t chase after his friend, can’t be persuaded to ignore his work. It has barely been six months since he took the Viscount title. He will not disappoint his father this soon. 

So Anthony turns back to his papers and continues the painstaking process of ensuring that the annual finances match up to his planned budgets. Slowly but surely, he works until late, and when he finishes, Anthony only allows himself a quick break in the form of a letter home before starting on the work for his classes. 

As he always does, Anthony mentally goes through the work that has to be done. There is an essay on England’s political allies, compiling notes for the final exams, additional readings that he has skipped for as long as he has been able to…

The list piles on and on in Anthony’s head, and he hasn’t even included all the other tasks he must do in his official role as Viscount. His gaze bores into his desk, and all Anthony can think about is the surety that he is never going to be as good as his father, that he is going to fail sooner rather than later, and he must give everything he can to avoid this failure as long as possible and-

“Anthony, you need to breathe.” 

Simon’s hands press firmly on Anthony’s shoulders, jolting Anthony out of his thoughts, violently pulling him into the present. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to move, but Simon is telling him to breathe, telegraphing his own breaths so that Anthony can copy. Bit by bit, Anthony becomes more aware of his surroundings and calms; his vision slowly returns, and he can see Simon kneeling in front of him, looking more worried than Anthony has ever seen him. 

“I am sorry,” Anthony says in between gasps, his mind still focused on their argument from earlier. 

“Consider it already forgotten,” Simon replies, still glancing over Anthony, worry evident in his eyes. “We were arguing; something was bound to slip out. Are you alright?” 

It is the question Anthony hates more than anything (because he knows the answer, why doesn’t anyone else), and it prompts him to push Simon’s hands off of him. “I am fine.” 

Simon clearly doesn’t believe it but still moves away, sitting on his bed. He stares at Anthony like he can see straight through him, and it makes Anthony want to look away, move away, but he knows he can’t, so he stares back at Simon. 

“I am also sorry,” Simon says. 

Whatever Anthony thought he was going to say, that was not it. He arches an eyebrow. “What on earth for?” 

“For all the pressures this university has put on you, all the pressures the ton puts on you…I always forget about the pressures you put on yourself.” Simon shifts, leaning forward as if to show his concern. “You were right, in one case; you are Lord Bridgerton, and you are responsible for your family. I may not understand, but I can sympathise.” 

Anthony manages to nod, rubbing the back of his neck. “These duties… they are mine, and no one else's.” 

“I know,” Simon acquiesces. “But you are my closest friend, Anthony; I will not lose you to the Viscounty.” 

With that, Simon tosses a pile of papers at Anthony. He barely catches it, but once he does, he starts reading it over. There are notes from all of Anthony’s classes, summaries of readings, precise notes on the important material for exams, and even more that Anthony has so desperately needed this term. 

Anthony looks up, his mouth open in surprise. “Simon…” 

“Even without your intimidating presence, I won against Hardy,” Simon brags, and Anthony can’t help smiling. “Hardy’s team’s punishment was to give me copies of all their notes. If there is anyone who deserves success without putting in the work, it is you.” 

Anthony is touched. Simon has truly thrown him a lifeline, a light in the overwhelming darkness. An unspeakable weight has lifted off his shoulders, and for the first time in six months, Anthony feels hopeful. 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Simon jokes. “I demand payment in support for all of my future pall mall endeavours.” 

“And you shall have it, I promise,” Anthony says.

Simon smiles, the real smile that only a few truly get to see, and it brings equal joy to Anthony. “Good. And I promise to you; when all this overwhelms, I will pull you out of your head.” 

Anthony smiles, only because he does not want Simon to know he doesn’t believe him. 

3.

“Lady Bridgerton. Lord Bridgerton.” 

His proper title never fails to leave a bitter taste in Anthony’s mouth, but he simply swallows it down and turns to the family that has addressed him, his mother fixed firmly on his arm. 

He is met with the sight of Lord and Lady Featherington, and Anthony nearly wishes for death then and there. Even if they are practically London neighbours, even if Eloise is friends with one of the daughters, he has zero interest in this conversation. Tact is not something he thinks the Featheringtons capable of, and that is what his mother needs most at this time, as their family is officially returning to society. 

“Lord and Lady Featherington,” Anthony says, nodding enough to be respectful. If he had his way, his mother would be far, far away from these people, instead surrounded by loving friends and family. 

“It is a beautiful ball, is it not?” Lady Featherington asks. “Lady Cowper has certainly outdone herself.” 

“Yes, it is just wonderful,” his mother says. “Now I am afraid I must steal my son away; he has promised me a dance tonight.” 

Anthony has done no such thing, but he will take any excuse to move away and gladly leads his mother onto the dance floor. As he positions them to waltz, his mother smiles up at him. 

“Insufferable yet well-meaning, that family,” she says, her voice light and joking. Anthony can only smile, happy for his mother to find joy in anything, no matter how small. 

“We should just be thankful that we can use dancing as an excuse.” 

Anthony continues to lead his mother, carefully watching her as they dance. The official mourning period has finished, even if his mother has not gone farther than dark blue in her dresses. With all the stress of running a household, without his father to support her, and looking after Gregory and Hyacinth, this year has been hard on his mother. Anthony is glad for tonight because even with the ton’s piercing stares, the ball provides his mother an opportunity to be away from the house and have fun. 

When the music finishes, Anthony can tell his mother wishes for a break and promptly offers her his arm. Together they make their way towards the terrace, stopping whenever another family comes to offer their condolences, or comment on how joyous the Bridgertons’ return is, or propose that Anthony discusses new business deals as if he doesn’t have the slightest idea how these men spend their time gambling. It is exhausting, but with enough pointed statements, Anthony manages to finally reach his destination, giving his mother some well-deserved space. 

“It is lovely, though, to see all the matches being made tonight,” his mother comments to him, the cool night air drifting past them. 

Anthony merely glances back at the dance floor, where he can see the men and women talking, and more importantly, the parents making deals. At nineteen, he is considered too young to be courting, even with his title (thank god), and all he can feel when he looks out at it is dread. 

“As lovely as being awoken by Eloise and one of her books,” he says, laughing when his mother sharply elbows him in the side. 

“Honestly Anthony,” she scolds, but the corners of her mouth are jumping up, proving the success of Anthony’s joke. The smile quickly fades, replaced by the quiet melancholy that Anthony has come to recognise as a memory of his father coming to light. He puts out his hand, offering comfort if she wants it. She does take it, squeezing his hand. 

“Your father and I…” Violet stops, as if she doesn’t know what to say, but clears her throat and continues. “Well, we always talked about the seasons, but it would have been years before we would have started looking for matches. He so looked forward to Daphne’s coming out.”

Emotions overwhelm his mother, and Anthony simply holds her, letting whatever she feels be felt to its fullest extent. It is true; Daphne’s season will be an event – as the first Bridgerton daughter, she’ll set the tone for their entire family. 

That night, Anthony makes a promise to himself. His mother will not have to suffer through a season, lost in memories of what could have been and of Edmund Bridgerton. When it comes time for Daphne to make a match, he will handle it himself. He will protect his mother from further pain. It is his duty to do so. 

4.

“Why won’t you even let me try to convince you?”

“When you have an argument that bears merit, Colin, feel free to air it; until then, as I have already said, no.” 

In the corner of his eye, Anthony can see Colin fighting not to stomp his foot. The action betrays his brother’s youth and most decidedly does not endear Anthony any further to this discussion. 

“What would be so bad about me beginning my education abroad?” Colin resumes his original question, and Anthony fights the urge to get up and slap his younger brother upside the head, despite how much he deserves it. “Lucas Rhine is already looking at German schools!” 

Anthony forces himself to count to ten, if only to cool his anger before responding. “Lucas Rhine’s mother is  _ German _ ,” he emphasises, “and he will most likely be inheriting his uncle’s title. It makes sense for him to study there. The most foreign relative we have is a cousin in Bath.” 

“But I want to travel!” Colin looks on the verge of tears, and Anthony can feel the pull of his heart, the call to rush over and comfort his brother as he does for scraped knees, but he stays put behind his desk. “There is so much of the world out there, Anthony, and it would be cruel to keep me from it!” 

Anthony rolls his eyes. “You are twelve, Colin. You will have plenty of time to travel after your studies are completed  _ in England _ . Now Mama has said no, and I have said no. Leave it there, please.” 

Colin goes silent, looking down at his shoes, and Anthony thinks it is the end of the matter. He looks down again, trying to figure out where he was in the ledgers before he was interrupted when Colin quietly speaks again. 

“Papa would have let me go.” 

And that is the last straw, because Anthony will not let his father’s name be dragged into an argument as stupid as this. 

“No, he would have not!” Anthony snaps, surprising both Colin and himself with the fierceness of his tone. “He would have entertained this silly notion of yours even less than I have, so as I have already asked, leave it be Colin.” 

“How would you know?” Colin’s shout back shocks Anthony, and it is all he can do not to react further than gripping the edge of his desk hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. “You’re always acting like you know best, like you know what Papa would want from us, but you don’t! You’re not even out of university yet! Stop trying to act like you’re him!” 

Ice invades every part of Anthony, chilling him to the core. “Colin Bridgerton,” he says, keeping a handle on his rage before he says something he regrets, “go to your room. Now.” 

Colin stands still, and for a moment, Anthony is prepared to shout, but Colin turns and leaves, and though Anthony should chastise him for slamming the door, he can’t bring himself to say anything more. Breathing deeply, Anthony collapses into his chair, staring at the pocket watch on the desk, his eyes unseeing. 

Because Colin is right, despite how much Anthony pushes his doubts down and ignores them. Even his little brother can see the truth – that Anthony is nothing more than a boy playing at being a Viscount. His attempts to look after the family have fooled no one; he has barely kept his head above water, and everyone knows he will soon be pulled under. He will never surpass his father’s legacy, never even match him. Anthony knows this and has made peace with it, but it still hurts for Colin to throw it in his face so blatantly. 

Only the hands of the pocket watch tell Anthony that time has passed; the mess of papers, letters, and ledgers staying strewn across his desk, untouched. The sound of the door opening shakes Anthony out of his stillness, and he glances up to see his other brother. 

“Benedict, if you even mention travelling to me, we duel at dawn.” 

It is only half a real threat; Anthony would never cause his family genuine harm, he would gladly put his life on the line for them, but Anthony is also in no mood for games and would enjoy a wide berth from any of the terrible jokes Benedict will try to make. 

Benedict laughs and comes to sit across the desk from Anthony. Anthony stares at his brother, only seventeen, yet as much as Anthony has tried to shield further responsibility, Benedict is now heir. Anthony wishes he could avoid it because Benedict is still so young, still a child with dreams, really; he doesn’t of all the pressures of the ton. Anthony loves his brother, fiercely, and will manage everything that he can on his own, if only to spare Benedict from the same fate. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Benedict says, propping his legs up on the desk purely because he knows Anthony hates it, but Anthony will not give him the satisfaction of a reaction.  There is a moment of silence between the brothers, the kind of quiet companionship that Anthony so craves, that it physically hurts his heart to refuse, before Benedict speaks again. 

“Colin will come apologise tonight. He spoke out of turn.” 

Anthony wants to disappear. To sink further into his chair and never have to look at Benedict again. He tries to keep the general household out of his business, tries to keep his struggles private. If the rest of his siblings have heard him and Colin shouting, then his mother certainly has. The more people that know Anthony is struggling, the more perilous the Bridgerton position is, and the more Anthony has to drag his poor still-grieving mother to social events to prove otherwise.

But Anthony doesn’t want that to happen, so he swallows down all of his distress and fixes Benedict with a look. “The matter is settled. He didn’t say anything we didn’t already know.” 

And there Benedict goes again, looking at Anthony in that earnest way he always does that makes Anthony feel like he is naked, all his flaws open to bear in front of society. He resists the urge to squirm. 

“Colin is young and doesn’t think. Today his mind on Germany, and tomorrow it will be on summer pastries.” There is a dark edge to Benedict’s voice that Anthony has never heard before. “What I am trying to say is that he does not realise the impact his words can have.” 

Anthony does not say anything; he cannot say anything. He is the eldest, he is the one who protects his siblings, but today it is Benedict fulfilling that role. As if Anthony needed another reminder of his current failures.

“Papa would be proud,” Benedict finally says. “And Colin may not act like it now, but he is just as grateful as I am for how you have taken care of us.” 

Anthony’s mouth is dry, and his heart is pounding in his chest. He wants to object – tell Benedict about all the mistakes he has made – but he will not burden his younger brother with any of it.  Thankfully, Benedict doesn’t say anything else; he simply smiles and leaves the study. Anthony collapses into his chair, his eyes squeezed shut, and presses his hands to his temples. 

5.

The night air is cool as Anthony escapes the cloying environment of the ball, shutting the doors of the terrace behind him. His breath is hitching, and panic is welling up inside him, and Anthony leans against the railing, trying to regain his composure. It was all just too much; the mamas crowding him, trying to shove their daughters in his direction even though he is barely three months out of Oxford. Objectively, he knows that he should be trying to find a wife, but the idea turns Anthony’s stomach. And besides, he doesn’t have the time for a wife; now that he has graduated, he needs to be fully involved in the estates, and he has seven siblings to look after. Until all their lives are set, he will not bother to look after his own. 

“Fucking hell,” Anthony murmurs to himself.

“The season already taking its toll, Lord Bridgerton?”

Anthony bolts up, unaware that he had not been alone, and the rest of his curses die out on his tongue when he sees who it is. “Lady Danbury!” 

Blood rushes to his cheeks as he stares at the recent dowager – firstly the woman is terrifying, and he is wholly embarrassed to have been caught like this, never mind the fact that he was  _ swearing _ -

“I-you must forgive me,” Anthony stammers. “I thought I was alone-you weren’t meant to hear-“

“Oh, it’s perfectly alright child,” Lady Danbury says, a twinkle of amusement in her eye that means she is enjoying this situation far more than Anthony currently is. “I have heard worse. Said worse, believe it or not.” 

Anthony just nods, because he is sure he is beet red and does not trust himself to speak. He also does not know how to get himself out of this situation, so he holds himself as stiffly as he can and waits for Lady Danbury’s lead. 

“Those mamas are a rather vicious bunch, are they not?” Lady Danbury says it as if she is merely discussing the weather and not the entire ton. Anthony nods and forces himself to speak because he can feel his pulse racing, which he has learned is never good. 

“Very determined,” he agrees. He can’t breathe – try as he might, it as if he cannot get air into his lungs. He leans against the railing again, and he should apologise to Lady Danbury, because he is most likely the worst conversationalist she has ever had, but before he does he has to focus on breathing because it has suddenly become so hard-

“Breathe, Lord Bridgerton. Three counts in, and three counts out.” 

Lady Danbury’s command overtakes his thoughts, and Anthony does as she says, counting in three over and over until he regains control. When Anthony looks up, Lady Danbury is merely watching him, standing with her cane, surveying him as if he is a roll of fabric. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly. 

Lady Danbury acknowledges him with a nod. “So, my dear Lord Bridgerton, what is it about these season’s ladies that is so troubling to you? Aside from the obvious, of course.” 

Anthony bites his lip, but his nerves are already frayed, so he might as well. “I cannot be married, even if it is my duty to my family. My siblings are my priority.” 

“Then don’t be.” 

Anthony stares at Lady Danbury in shock. Doesn’t she know that he must?

“You had a lot of responsibilities placed onto you when you were young, so it is not surprising that you feel old enough to think about marriage. But to the rest of us, Lord Bridgerton, you are barely past childhood.” Lady Danbury smiles, as if she is quite pleased with herself. “It is not a mark on your abilities, but a simple fact. You are twenty-one; there is no need to rush into a marriage, despite what those mamas think. Your household is secure, and frankly, I would enjoy those poor mamas dealing with an Anthony Bridgerton who has already made up his mind and refuses to budge. According to Lord Basset, it is quite a sight.” 

Anthony manages to laugh; it is true, and Anthony prides himself on being incredibly stubborn. It had given him great joy in school and Simon great frustration. 

“There we go,” Lady Danbury says, now smiling in that way all mothers do when they seem to know something you do not. “Do not fret, Lord Bridgerton. You are doing right by your family, rather fabulously so, and you have a bright future ahead of you.” 

With that, Lady Danbury takes her leave. Anthony does not wish to prove her wrong, but he knows his future. He knows that the darkness that threatens to consume him eventually will. 

+1

Daphne looks beautiful in her wedding gown. 

Anthony thinks he could cry right now. His eldest sister, nine years younger than him, is getting married. He still remembers when Daphne was barely ten, playing wedding. Benedict gladly indulged her, agreeing to be the minister, and she would bully Colin into playing groom (because she has always been headstrong, his sister; it is the trait that they most share and the one that most often puts them at odds). Eloise and Francesca were always willing to bridesmaids, and because Papa was too busy to play with them, it would fall onto Anthony to give her away. And he always did so, cracking jokes that would make Daphne smile, helping her turn Mama’s lace cloth into a veil. 

And now he is to do it all for real. 

Daphne is adjusting her veil, a real one this time, and fidgeting with her dress as if to get rid of her nervous energy. Anthony understands; he and his sister are more similar than they realise, he knows. 

She eventual catches onto the fact that he is staring at her and turns to him. “What is wrong, brother?” she asks. “Have I missed something?”

“No, sister,” he answers, smiling. “You look perfect.” 

Daphne clearly doesn’t believe him, because she continues to fidget. 

“Daphne-“Anthony starts, but holds back. He has already made a mess of his sister’s season, because of course, it stands to reason that he cannot do anything right, and he will not make it worse by ruining her wedding as well. 

But one should never underestimate a younger sister, because Daphne turns to Anthony and sets a look upon him that is frightfully familiar to his mother’s. “I do not wish for there to be any more secrets between us, Anthony. Please, tell me.” 

Anthony wants to stay silent, avoid any other mishaps this week (he is still reeling from Daphne’s charge into the middle of a bloody duel), but he knows his sister is right. There should be no secrets between them. 

“Do you want this?” he asks. “To marry the Duke. Because Daphne, if you do not, say so, and I will escort you out of this church right this instance. Damn reputation, damn the ton, damn it all – if this will not make you happy, I will move heaven and earth to find a match that will.” 

He is out of breath, but this has been stuck inside him ever since Daphne’s intervention at the duel. He will not let his sister be unhappy; he has already failed her once. He will not do so again; he has always known it is his duty to do right by her, and he will be damned if this is the one duty he does not complete. 

Daphne hesitates, and for a moment he prepares himself to cause hell altogether and call the wedding off, but she does speak. 

“I do not think that this is the path any of us envisioned, but it has come, nevertheless. Mama has said you must marry your best friend, and I believe I am doing so. I…” Daphne breathes, short and quickly, before barreling onward. “I think that if I do not love the Duke, I will soon do so.” 

Anthony searches his sister’s face for any reluctance, any hint of dishonesty, but he finds none. 

“I am glad to hear.” Anthony says. “Truly, Daph. I have only ever wanted your happiness.” 

Daphne beams back at him, ever the glowing bride. “Thank you, Anthony.” 

He can hear the start of the music, knows it is time. Quickly, his hands rush up, making one final adjustment to Daphne’s veil, smiling down at her. He is so proud of her today. 

He has second-guessed every decision he has made since inheriting his title twelve years ago. But not this one. Still smiling, Anthony offers Daphne his arm and leads her down the aisle. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! This is my first time writing in this kind of style, so I hope I was able to do it justice.


End file.
